


Maude

by HarmoniaChimera



Series: World of Darkness [1]
Category: World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: 19th Century, Bars and Pubs, Dark Fantasy, F/M, Late at Night, POV First Person, Stranger Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmoniaChimera/pseuds/HarmoniaChimera
Summary: A tall, muscular lady working as a bruiser at a seedy pub, catches the eye of a gentleman. Little do they know they would be tethered together for years to come.
Relationships: Jonathan Black/Maude
Series: World of Darkness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875472
Kudos: 4





	Maude

The year was 1878, and The Grapes, as always, sleazy and thick with drunkards. The Thames’s heavy, wet odour still flowed in through the cracked, occasionally broken windows despite the tidal wave retiring for the day. The watermen noisily screamed their bells as a few of the more boozy doxies giggled in their laps; dishevelled waitresses zipped between the tables, serving ale as lousy as ever; in the corner, two scammered fellows were bashing out their differences. I watched them with a steel gaze from above my half-full tankard and behind my lonely table in the back.

One could ask: what was a lady like me doing in a pub like this? Well, thankfully, I ain’t no lady. As for what I was doing in there? In theory, working. In practice, trying to get lushy. Though in a place like this, those were often one and the same. My task was simple: getting rid of nose-bags, keeping the peace, preventing more windows from getting smashed or waitresses from getting groped. My screw: an open score, food on my plate, and a twelver a week. Hardly enough to keep anyone happy but enough for a roof over one’s head. And the bung, while as obscene as the pub itself, was kind and good-hearted, and had long become a fatherly figure to his patrons, while his frow manned the kitchen upstairs.

If there was ever a time when the men in this house were brave enough to approach my table, that was now long past. They had learnt since that I’s not to be trifled with, not with fists whose punches could bring any one of them to their knees without so much as sloshing the beer in my mug. I was in every sense of the word, the bruiseress of this place, and even the two blokes milling at each other stepped bashfully away once they noticed me staring them down. And they were right to do so. In certain… circles, I am after all, known as The Mad Mauler; but these articles here will only ever know me as Maude. I could hear them talking behind my back sometimes, too quiet, they thought, for me to hear: Maude could snap a neck with one hand; Maude did not abide any trouble in The Grapes; Maude liked her quiet far too much.

These men, were I not getting paid for it, would barely be worth my fists.

At times, it pained to sit here, confined under a man’s rule, while the moon shone full and bright above the water just outside the window; at times still, this place felt more like home than my camp ever did. I was not of London, see—I hailed from a place deep within the woods. But my father chose other men above his own daughter; so when I killed one of them, with good reason, might I add, I was ostracised and exiled, and still very, very lucky. Surely no one could blame me if I’d rather not have nothing to do with them again. If I tried my best to fit amongst the sheep. But, every now and again, my own nature betrayed me and yearned, yearned so, so hard, to be free again. When the noisy bustle of the pub’s patrons and the horrid smell of sewage and booze and sweat just became too much. And I’d have to drink another pint and take more drugs, some of which concocted by myself, to dull my senses and make life bearable again.

The upside to this house in particular, other than the free bub and grub, had to be its inclusivity. Here, nobody minded a woman of my posture, or even an occasional slip of fang—once, when the bung saw marks on my tankard, he only shrugged and replaced it with a new one. Here, the watermen drank with labourers whose friends they had drowned two nights before; blowens and their fancy-men sat next to washed-out writers and hum-drum chaps, smutty snobs next to kisky philosophers. One could find the strangest fellows huddled together, knocking about the bub. In here, everyone was welcome, anyone could be found, and no one was the odd one out.

So I hope you understand what I mean when I say that the man who walked into The Grapes that particular night was in every way very much out of place.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the bung making sure I’d noticed the new arrival—but as evidenced by a shush falling over the patrons, it was impossible not to. I could see fear flashing on some faces: was this an Inspector? They’d come from time to time, dressed to the seven and oozing authority, asking questions about the drownings or other misdeeds of the waterside. But this man… This man was no Inspector.

He was wearing his collar sack-suit style and had forgone his top hat and gold watch this time, but by the clean trim of his black beard and the weight of his well-cut blue chesterfield coat, one could tell this man was merely pretending to have any business in this part of town. He did not stagger or barge in—he stepped into the place with dignity and poise; he did not grin or shout from the door—in silent solemnity, he nodded a greeting at the flabbergasted bung. I watched him like a falcon, waiting for him to make one wrong move… but there were none. He carried himself with grace as he made his order at the counter and moved deeper into the pub; and, as if he’d taken my watchful gaze as an invitation, bee-lined towards my table. Our eyes locked on each other as he took his seat.

We sat in silence.

The waitress whizzed around and set an aromatic hot tiger in front of him. I raised my brow. He did not look like the kind of man to drink spiced ale—much more a bourbon or brandy kind—but, with his gaze still steadfast on my face, he took a sip. Not a single muscle budged to change his composed expression. His eyes were piercing blue.

We sat in silence.

I wet my lips in beer, staring him down from above the rim. With his clean-cut presence, hair only freshly ruffled by the Thames’s breezes or his own hand in an attempt to achieve a more scruffed appearance, and impeccably white shirt poking out from under his waistcoat, he stood out like a sore thumb. He looked big, too big for a place like this. But despite the glances of the now thoroughly shocked patrons and my own eyes casting daggers, he sat there comfortably settled into the bench, turning the mug with long fingers and he stared right back.

We sat in silence.

That is, until a bloke, bravest from the lot, sidled up to our table in a kimbo and loudly cleared his throat. “We’s not takin’ well to chaps like ya bargin’ in on our honest-man’s bus’ness,” he said, a boozy whiff enveloping the table. “Oi, Maude, why ain’t ya kickin’ this nob to the kerb?” The stranger cocked his head a half-inch with an inquisitive look of his own, as though he were asking me the same question.

“Pack off ‘fore I send ya to pot, Billy,” I grumbled, my eyes leaving the stranger’s only for long enough to give the bloke a sideways glance. With a mumbled apology, he scurried away. When my eyes returned to the stranger’s face, a smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

We sat in silence.

Until finally, the man took another sip of his drink, and with a polite incline of his head, spoke, “The name is Jonathan, Jonathan Black.” His words were articulate, and voice deep and sophicated, and yet still cold enough to send a shiver down my spine. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

I sat back and sipped my beer with a chuckle. “You’s one rum customer, ain’t ya?”

“So are you.” Everything he said came with an air of a smile, even though his lips didn’t even twitch.

“Oh? How d’ye figure?”

“A lady like you, in a dress like that, sitting alone in a pub like this, sparking fear into the hearts of men?” He said the last word like he meant to use a different one entirely.

This time I cocked my head at him. “Ye ain’t lookin’ much fearful y’self.”

“Takes a smidgen more than dark looks to scare me.”

“Clearly.”

He laughed. The sound, though quiet in comparison to the bustle of the pub, resonated somewhere deep within me, like a whispered promise. “I am surely looking forwards to seeing more of you.”

I raised my brow. “S’pose that makes us two of a kidney.”

“I’ll drink to that.” He clinked his mug against my tankard and once again, we sipped our drinks, gazes interlocked above the table.

We talked for a long while, about the latest events and their separate impacts on the high and low societies. He told me about the University of London accepting women as of last week. I told him about a Mr Conrad, the aspiring Polish writer who visited The Grapes a few months back. Jonathan carried the conversation and himself both with the ease of someone who had every ounce of confidence in his own charm and presence, and by ‘Od, he had every right to. Before long, I found myself drawn to his cool, ice-blue gaze, and I don’t think he was even trying.

And while I was still chuckling as I drank the last of my beer, those lights pierced right through me, the shade suddenly a bit darker and his voice a bit lower when he asked, “If you forgive my bluntness, may I suggest we take a walk down the water’s edge?”

“Well, that is indeed quite forward, Jonathan,” I said in a mock posh accent, barely stifling a smile of my own. “But to raise the stakes, shall we take that walk to my nearby diggings?”

He grinned like a Cheshire cat, finished his drink in one gulp and left half a quid on the table. I gave a low whistle as we slipped out the back door and swiftly made our way down to the sand littered with garbage and shells. I brushed down my dress while Jonathan followed, casting uncertain glances back at the pub. “Are you quite certain your friends from before will not be following us?”

“Oh, no odds,” I scoffed. “Those blokes can’t see the hole in that ladder.”

He chuckled and as we started down the river back, his arm somehow found its way around my waist. I didn’t mind. The night was as chilly as one would expect from mid-October, and his embrace welcome enough in the tar-like dark. Mud-larks and bone-grubbers sifted through the detritus in the faint light of lanterns swinging in their hands like dying will-o-wisps, even if the air still smelt like brine and… well, whatever else was floating in Thames these days. The crescent moon provided little light to go by, but the sloshing of the waves made our direction evident.

“I must say, I am somewhat surprised you agreed to leave with me,” he said, his coat flapping on his arm, commanded by the cold breeze. “A lady should refrain from being seen alone with a gentleman, and surely even more so after dark.”

I gave a soft chuckle. “Ain’t no one could see us on a night like this.”

I could see his smile flash in the dark. “Am I just that charming?”

“What’ere to say? A gorger like ye wheedling me? Must be some charm a’right.”

“And you’re not afraid at all?”

“Takes a smidgen more’an dark to scare me.”

He caught my meaning; with a chuckle, he leant in closer to bury his face in my hair as he whispered, throatily, “So many naughty things I could do to you before anyone would notice…”

A shaky exhale betrayed my response before I could un-bite my lip and form a sentence. “May be slap what I wants from ye, eh?”

His hand squeezed my waist so hard I could feel it through the corset. Even though we kept walking, his face remained buried in my hair, rubbing into it as though trying to find a way in. And just as I was meaning to reach out and claim his lips for mine self, a little nipper ran straight into me, clearly on a mission of some sorts.

He bounced off like a ball, landing heavily in the sand. I recognised in him the eldest of Pot Martha’s sons; his mum was probably looking for snots somewhere further upriver, as she would. “Ev’nin’, Miss Maude!” he saluted, scrambling to his feet unfazed by the fall.

“A’ight, fake away then!” I sent him off with a slap on the back that nearly sent him flying again. “Say hi to your Mumma!”

“Right as ninepence, Miss Maude!”

“You seem to be well known around here,” Jonathan remarked when the boy was out of earshot.

“He’s a tight lad.” I shrugged, aware it wasn’t really an answer. “S’pose when you have a habit, you’s bound to bump into the same folk.”

“So you take midnight strolls downriver on a daily basis, then?”

“It’s a shorter walk down ‘ere than up on the street. And cos there’s always low tide when the Grape opens and closes…”

“Where do you stay, then?”

He nodded as I pointed into the dark, nary-one of us pointing out he couldn’t have seen more than a jagged line against the night sky, if that. “It’s the low one, right ahead.”

We didn’t make it that far. No more than a step or two later, Jonathan pulled me in with strength unexpected from a smug cove like him; his lips sought out mine, his other hand already making its way down my thigh. I groaned into his mouth, pulling away to say something—but the sight of his passionate expression, gaze aflame with lust sweeping across my face and everything else I had to offer, incited a fire inside me, too. At once, I couldn’t care less who would see or hear us in this dead of night; one hand tugging on his collar, I wrapped the other around the back of his neck as I lost myself in his lips again.

There was a soft _thump_ when his blue chesterfield coat dropped to the sand, the arm it hung from too busy grasping at my dress to support it. Jonathan’s frantic mouth followed the lines of my jaw down to my neck and into my décolletage as his hungry fingers searched for the hem. Struggling to keep my balance, I pulled his waistcoat open and was just tugging his shirt off his shoulders when he succeeded—his hands hiked my dress up with impatient zeal. We collapsed into the water; the splash louder than our cries, somehow, and the lapping waves soaking through the top of my dress in an instant.

“Blazes, it’s cold!” I gasped, holding on to Jonathan for dear life.

“At least it’s finally clean,” he chuckled, but with a hand under my neck, he flipped us around. He didn’t seem very bothered about the chill, not when his hands were roaming under my skirt, playfully thumbing the edges of my stockings.

“And only somethin’ like six-hundred-and-fifty souls had to go to grass for that.” Even through the rich cotton shirt I could feel his heart beating frantically underneath mine, the blush on his cheeks betraying his eagerness more so even than those long fingers digging into my thighs.

“We should respect their sacrifice,” he huffed, raising from the water only to lock my lips in with his. I groaned a sound of agreement, squeezing his hips as his hand finally slipped into my underdress. He gave an appreciative murmur that tingled against my lips and then another one when mine palmed him through the breeches. Before long, it was inside, and then finally… It all moved so fast I scarcely had time to remember I had never done this before. My maidenhood was about to be stolen away in the night, on a river bank, by a man swell enough to be a lord and wild enough to be a kinsman; and yet naught but a common scamp, a seedy wire, taking whatever he wanted. But this time, I just didn’t seem to mind.

I really was just a bitch in heat, eh?

“Ready so soon, my dear?” he teased, his fingers dancing at my entrance to the tune of my gasps.

“Was ready since you— Ohh, God damn it!”

“Shush, shush, shush…” He pulled me in for another kiss, even as his shaft was opening me up. “Keep it down on the blasphemies.”

“See if I care.” Gasping, I dug my fingers into his shirt as he advanced, my huffs turning into a groan when he finally broke through. He stopped, cupping my cheek.

“Did I hurt you?” His blue eyes searched my face with such warm concern, I wanted to ram myself down on him even more than I already did.

“You could never hurt me.” I pushed down, my moans lost in his lips as my body finally responded, as if awaking from a deep, ancient sleep only to beg for more with every buck of the hips.

“Is that so?” There was something playful in his dark gaze, a smirk playing on his open lips that made my heart race. And suddenly, he picked up the pace, moving himself faster than I ever thought possible, ramming it in at such a pace my mind went blank and all I could do was hang on to his body, bury my face in his shoulder, and try so very hard not to scream.

His arms wrapped around me tightly, he took me hard and fast, and so, so good, like I had always belonged to him—like he’d always belonged to me. His groans and grunts sounded in my ear as he chased his completion, the sounds themselves enough to bring me to the brink even while my insides were coiling around him in the way that only made me cry out for more.

There was something unexpectedly familiar, dangerous but sweet, in the way he held me, in the way his lips caressed my ear and neck, in the way his fingers tugged on my hair, pushing my gasping mouth into his bare shoulder. His skin tasted like the Thames but there was something else, something tempting just underneath his skin, calling out to my inner, wilder nature. And the closer my peak was looming, the closer creeped my awakening. And I knew, in that moment, that with him, with Jonathan, I would never have to hide or feel alone ever again. He was my haven.

“Oh, Jon—” I breathed, his thrusts growing more frantic, more desperate, more overwhelming; my gasps turned into animalistic groans as I pushed down against him, as though that was going to make it come quicker. Jonathan’s lips danced on my skin—and through the heavy mist of drugs and ecstasy that addled my senses, I could feel a prick—maybe two?—and then a flood of bliss unlike anything I had ever felt. Screaming, eyes rolling back as release finally washed over me, and his hand still holding the back of my head, I clenched my fists on his shirt and my teeth on his shoulder.

The flesh gave with little resistance; the wild ecstasy took over, carrying me over the waves of pleasure so strong my muscles tensed, my body shaking uncontrollably; something flooded my mouth, something that tasted like passion itself, delicious like the sweet-scented fruit of desire and devotion; everything in me throbbed and ebbed with bliss and exaltation, including Jonathan. I lapped at the tastes exploding in my mouth, aching for more already, as though this bloodthirsty, delightful animal was all I had ever been born to be, as though anything else was and forever would be nothing but a pitiful existence. Only in Jonathan could I ever be complete.

Slowly, my senses returned, acute as ever. There was the Thames and the taste of cold water clinging to my lips; vague, distant shouts of the mud-larks treading in water in search for their prizes; sand scraping against my knees, the fullness within me, and Jonathan’s arms still so tightly wrapped around me, stroking my hair; the scent of algae and sand and my and Jonathan’s bliss, and his perfume, and—

“You bit me,” he said with something like mild surprise.

I grinned and bumped my nose into his neck, the sharp edges of my teeth scraping against my lip. “You bit me first.” And only when I finally opened my eyes and pulled back enough to see the denizen of my awakening, his eyes widening in not surprise but shock this time, and his mouth falling open to reveal a pair of fangs of his own.

“You’re a werewolf,” he breathed, realisation dawning on his face.

“And you’re a—” I gasped, taking him in. A vampire. He was a vampire, and I drank his essence like the finest wine. I recoiled but in doing so only sat down harder, his shaft digging painfully into my deepest spot. And even through the pain and the shock and the fear, I still couldn’t bear to peel away any further. “And I— Blazes, I—" Tears pricking at my eyelids, I brought my fingers up to my lips, as if I could just pull the blood out and undo the mistake. But I couldn’t.

“Maude!” As if sensing my panic, Jonathan sat up after me, wrapping his hand around my cinched waist once again. I could break his hold with no effort, I knew I could… But then why didn’t I want to? “It’s all right. Take it slow. You’re all right.”

I would give anything for that to be true. But when I looked into his blue eyes, his brows furrowed with worry and my body perfectly fitted into his embrace, it almost, almost felt like it. My hands slipped around his shoulders before I could even think about what I was doing, the wet fabric of his shirt clinging to his skin making it feel even more real, somehow; his lips, slowly and gingerly, found mine again, or perhaps the other way around…? I could feel my fear and worry melting away in the safety of his arms, my heart’s frantic beating slowing down, my breath returning into my chest only to be taken away by his tender kiss.

Ages, it would seem, later, we finally pulled apart. My gaze slithered from his lips up to his enthralling blue eyes, but they wandered across my face, taking in every line and feature, as if to commit them all to his memory. He brushed my ruffled hair aside, stalling. And I knew three things in that moment… One, he didn’t want it ending any more than I did.

“You’re all right, Maude.”

Two, we would never have another moment like this.

“Better now?”

And three, I would never be complete again.

I nodded, pulling back to a stand; I could feel his dark essence flowing down my thighs as I straightened out my dress and glanced around to ensure nobody had spied upon us. John watched me, concern still written clearly on his face, even while he cleaned himself up. The chill had picked up again—my soggy dress felt like slabs of ice broken upon my back. Jonathan noticed me trembling—‘course he did—and shaking the sand out of his blue chesterfield coat, he wrapped it around my shoulders without another word. Even though I knew what he was now, even if my vision adjusted to the dark and saw his features in minute detail—even now he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. But it couldn’t be. A vampire, the very embodiment of the Wyrm’s power in our world, couldn’t be so gorgeous. It had to be a trick.

“Show me yer real face.”

Jonathan looked up from where he was fastening the coat and gazed at me with surprise. But then, without a word of protest, he closed his eyes and slowly breathed out. The colour flushed from his cheeks, skin grew pale and grey; and when I pressed my hand to his cheek, I could feel the heat dissipating in the breeze, his skin becoming just as cool as the air around us. And yet somehow, he looked the same, like a very cold or very sick version of himself; and despite that, he was still so… very… beautiful.

Next instant, he rushed to the water and gruesomely, wetly, brought up the hot tiger, the contents of his clearly dormant stomach splashing dreadfully into the river. He mumbled an awkward apology before another bout hit, no less atrocious than the last. He stepped a few paces upriver and washed his mouth out with clean water, as I watched, as if mesmerised. I could walk away right now. So why didn’t I?

“Let me walk you home.”

I focused back on his light blue gaze as he stood before me again, his elbow put out to the side for me to slide my hand into. “I’s can take care of meself.”

“I know.” His voice was changed now, a more ethereal, perhaps even weaker, somehow, but not any less pleasant to the ear. “But you’ve lost some blood, and I’d feel better myself if you’d allow me to accompany you.”

I succumbed, finally taking his arm, and as we walked downriver again, I wondered which of us made that decision. Is this how it’s supposed to feel? The elders always said, ‘you must not take a vampire’s blood and let it live as it will bind you and force you to do its bidding’. With how close we lived to London, and how many of us left the camp to become Urrah, it was a permanent part of our Litany. But I didn’t feel forced. I could’ve refused, even if I didn’t. So am I under Jonathan’s control now or was that just another hateful prejudice?

And really, would it be so surprising that the elders lied about yet another thing?

“You didn’t drink enough,” Jonathan said suddenly, like he knew what I was thinking. “I cannot command you, nor would I wish to. But you’ll feel… urges, you’ll feel like you need to seek me out and see me again; but you can, and you must, resist it.”

I looked at him in surprise. He _didn’t_ want me bound to him? For a moment there, it all had almost felt like a ploy he’d devised to get control of me. The elders did say the vampires, like any other agents of the Wyrm, sought to maim and use the Garou. S’ppose they lied about that, too, eh?

I nodded, still dazed. He looked at me like this was the matter of utmost importance. “Promise me.”

“I’ll keep it in check. I promise.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, looking ahead again. “It’ll pass soon enough,” he added. “Certainly sooner for you. And then you’ll be free of me once again.”

We stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to my house, staring at each other with a sense of finality. Now I understood what he’d meant: I didn’t want him to go at all. I didn’t want him to leave me. By God, I didn’t want to be free.

We stood in silence.

The tides were lapping at the river bank, inching higher and higher with each minute. A distant bell struck twice. The sound seemed to pull us both out of whatever trance we’d found ourselves in. Startled, Jonathan jerked; I handed the coat back to him and he rubbed the velvet fabric like its very texture could make it all better, somehow correct or perhaps allow the sweet mistake of our hidden natures.

He raised his glinting blue eyes at me. “I truly enjoyed our most pleasant evening together, Lady Maude.”

I snickered. Before I could reply, his lips were on mine again, my eyes fluttering closed as I lost myself in his embrace, in his cold taste delightfully spread across my warm tongue. He let the moment linger, as if to prolong it as far as he could. And I wondered: was he bound by the same magic, or was it, for him, entirely true?

His touch was gone. And when I opened my eyes, so was he.

\---

The year was now 1879. It was exceptionally cold this particular night and the streets were blanketed in a thin layer of snow as I made my way across town. Five months had passed since my encounter with John, but he was right. It didn’t last long, the yearning, the urges, the lapping of the waves and smells of Thames bringing in the memories of our night on the sand; a few weeks and my life was as it had been before. But it wasn’t. As much as I tried to dish it, now and again, he was on my mind, invading it at the most unwelcome times, usually when I was bashing a mate’s face in, or trying to drink till I had the sun in my eyes.

It took me far, far longer to realise what that meant, to relive the moments and pinpoint what had truly happened that night. In comparison, finding him was much easier, what with the network of urchins and costermongers at my disposal through the Grapes. As was sneaking, unseen, into his humble mansion at the city’s western edge. If he had any servants, they were long gone, and the place was dark and quiet. I walked the rooms, searching for him, his scent too permeating throughout it all to be any help.

I finally found him in the sitting room, huddled over a desk. He jumped to his feet as I entered, but the determination and fear seeped from his face and left only shock when he took me in.

We stood in silence.

Jonathan couldn’t bear it. He stepped closer, arms extended as if he wanted to pull me into an embrace but stopped himself at the last instant. “Maude.” His voice was soft and aching, almost as if lined with betrayal. “You made a promise.”

“And I kept it,” I replied, head held high. “Bond’s long gone.”

Almost with relief, he took another step. Had he spent this time wishing I’d give in to my urges after all? “Then why are you here?”

“Cos I do what I wants.” I let a smirk show. Jonathan’s lips twitched into a near smile as I cocked my head. “Ain’t expected this, eh?”

“No,” he chuckled awkwardly. “It was an accident. The bond would have certainly made you feel for me in ways you would not have felt otherwise.”

“Bond’s long gone,” I repeated, stepping a little closer. If he had any breath in his chest, it hitched in his throat. I could _smell_ the desire building inside him again.

“Still, even after it’s run its course, your heart may have—”

“There’s one thing you ain’t considerin’, luv.” Another step. He leant in closer, as if to reach for me again.

“What’s that?” he whispered into my lips.

“I loved you before I bit you.”

His lips were far, far sweeter than I remembered, and still as cold as the Thames’s midnight breeze; but as he wrapped his arms tightly around me, they warmed up, and the familiar blush crept up on his cheeks again when I pulled back to look into those natty blue eyes of his. We were both gasping for breath, too enraptured with one another to think straight.

“Jon—” He kissed me again before I could finish, pulling away far too soon with a tender sigh.

“I might have to change my name again,” he chuckled. ”I love when you gasp ‘John’ but too breathless to speak the rest.”

“No.” Panting, I struggled for my own words, only proving his point. “Keep it between us.”

His next kiss was as passionate and desperate as ever. “We must be careful this time,” he sighed between the kisses. “No bonds.” His taste lingered on my lips even as he pulled away again. “I cannot bear to think of you unable to walk out on me if you so wished, Maude.”

With another chuckle, I licked at his lip, sending a shiver that quaked beneath my fingers. “If ye love me, call me Nip.”

“Gladly.” He kissed down my neck. “Since a nip is how this all began.”

“Oh, John, shut yer mouth and kiss me.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he gladly complied. His caress, somehow, felt much more true, more real than it ever did, even with his fangs in my vein, back in that cold water. Here, in his arms, I was safe, I was my true self, and I was complete once again.

Nestled into one another, we kissed in silence.


End file.
